


Plague Era

by Kayin



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Character Death, Drabble Collection, F/M, Nameless Apprentice, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:48:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23271247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kayin/pseuds/Kayin
Summary: Drabbles from my first attempt at writing a story. Seemed a waste to let them just sit in my google docs.
Relationships: Apprentice/Julian Devorak
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had tried to do research on Tarot cards, and magical things before I started these drabbles, so you'll have to forgive me if I get some things wrong. I'm more of a science girl than a mystic girl, but I tried! 
> 
> A for effort, right?

I sit in the dark. Sit alone in the back room, at the table whose cloth upon it shows not its normal lavender hue but pale silver in the moonlight coming in from the half closed window. The moonlight casts just enough light to see the table’s contents, a few candles, a crystal ball and a lone tarot deck. It was on this tarot deck that my eyes rest. My vision swims with unshed tears, face hot from holding them back. My back is rigid, anxiety and fear coursing through me, manifesting in locked muscles refusing to move as I stare at the cards in front of me. My breath comes in shallow rasps, the attempt to keep control beginning to slip as I think about the woman lying in her bed upstairs. The woman whose eyes are closed now, only because I did it manually, unable to look upon the evidence of her demise. 

My shaking body quakes the tears from my eyes and they make a mad dash down my cheeks. With my vision slightly cleared I can almost swear I can see the tarot cards before me shimmering in the moonlight. This is the second time in my life that I’m left alone, wondering what to do, with nowhere to go, no one to turn to. During the first I was saved by the woman whom I affectionately called Auntie, who now lays still with death upstairs. She is--was the only family I’ve ever known, other than maybe Asra. Asra, who Auntie took in as an apprentice some years back and frequently stayed here at the shop with the two of us. Asra, who was currently out of the city, on one of his many adventures.

I scrunch my face, desperately trying to hold back sobs. I don't want to cry, crying wasn't going to bring Auntie back, or stop the Red Plague. If there was ever a time that I wished Asra was here, now was it. He would know what to do, what to say. How to take care of…

A sob finally escapes me and I cover my face in my hands. Help. I needed help. I don't know what to do. It all happened so quickly. I’ve heard about people getting sick, people being sent off to the island. I'd seen the cloud of smoke billowing off in the distance. It seemed so far away, so distant. But it hadn't yet taken anyone I knew, so I could distance myself from it, to pretend it wasn't real.

Two days. I only knew she was sick for two days. How long had she been ill? The only sign I had was the red sclera, but surely I should have seen something else? How was Auntie hiding her sickness? If she knew she should have told me! Prepared me! 

By now I’m sobbing so hard I've bent myself over the table in a feeble attempt to curl up into the fetal position. I’m no longer able to hold back my sadness and it washes over me like a tsunami, leaving me shaken and disheveled from its intensity. By the time I recover and remove my hands from my face I notice the moon beam from the window has moved a decent distance across the table, leaving my tarot deck in darkness. Had I been crying that long? I wipe my eyes, my face hot, swollen and sore. But, my mind is more clear, the sadness still present but I’m more able to function. 

What to do now? What's the next step? Should I leave the shop? Would it be wise to stay here with a plague victim overnight? Is she still contagious? Am… I infected too? 

_"When in doubt, consult the deck, my dear."_ I can almost hear Auntie's voice in my head. _"The deck is always there to help guide, or support. With your talent, you're sure to get an answer to any question."_

The deck before me flashes. My eyes widen. That was definitely not moonlight. I reach out my hand to touch it, but before my finger even taps the surface of the top card the deck flashes again, so bright I have to squint. When it dims I see the deck has been cut, the cards closest to me shimmer and hum with impatience.

Auntie always said I was special, that I had natural talent. I didn't believe her, usually humored her with my readings, even if they would sometimes uncannily come true. I had always attributed it to luck. I knew magic was real, I'd seen Auntie and Asra perform many spells, even did a few myself, but it was only just a hobby to me. Entertainment for money. I had left the real magic to Auntie. Looking at the deck before me, I no longer think it's just a parlor trick to earn extra coin. I finally start to let what Auntie told me so many times in so many ways seep into my heart. The Arcana are real, and they speak through the tarot deck to me.

No longer in denial, I reach out and take the cut shimmering deck. I’m surprised the deck is cold, I’m not sure why I thought it would be warm. I stare down at the deck a moment before closing my eyes and thinking of what I want to ask the Arcana.

_Help me,_ I plead in my mind. _I need guidance._

I open my eyes and draw the first card, laying it with a soft thump onto the table cloth right in front of me. _Reversed Wheel of Fortune._ My eyebrows shoot up. _Unexpected loss._ I draw the next card placing it above and to the left of the first, beginning the top row of my Spiritual Guidance spread. Continuing down the line until I reach the eighth and last card, not registering what the cards are until I've laid them in place and set the rest of the deck back onto the table. I sit back in my chair taking in the cards before me.

_Reversed Wheel of Fortune_

_Upright Chariot_

_Reversed Strength_

_Upright Devil_

_Upright Hanged Man_

_Reversed Moon_

_Upright Death_

_Upright Fool_

I stare at the cards. I’m confused as to why they are all Major Arcana. My eyes linger on The Devil. Slowly my eyes drift over to The Hanged Man, The Moon, Death and finally The Fool. I swallow thickly. Normally I would almost hear a voice or feel a sensation giving me an idea of the truest meaning of the cards. Tonight, it's unnervingly silent. I wait, and wait and still nothing. The cards dim, and fade to dark, the moonbeam having moved from the table to shine against the far wall. I sit in the darkness, still as the night around me. I don't understand exactly what the cards are telling me, but I might have an idea. The road before me looks rough, but there's hope. I look at where The Fool should be sitting in the darkness. _New beginnings._

Yes, there was hope.


	2. Chapter 2

Dawn comes achingly slow. I sat in my chair at the reading table all night, not sure what to do with myself. Now that I see the pinks and oranges of sunrise glimmering through the window I guess it's time to go. I smooth down my hair, rub my eyes and stand. I leave the cards as they are on the table. No one would disturb them. I walk out into the main room of the shop, grab my cloak from my hook on the wall, purposefully averting my gaze from the stairs leading up. I throw my cloak around my shoulders and out the door in one swift movement. The door thuds behind me, flashes with its magical seal. I glance up at the dawns glow, my eyes search the horizon until I see it. The pillar of smoke from Lazaret Island, mockingly reflecting the pinks and golds of the morning sunrise. I shiver, then slowly make my way down the street.

The only thing I can think to do is make my way down to the docks. I know that they ferry off the deemed unsavable people and the already dead off to the island. I wonder if anyone is manning the docks this early, or if it’s to the point that someone is always there. My feet carry my numb body there without much thought. I begin to hear the waves of the ocean, smell the sea air. I round the last building before the docks become visible, the large pillar of smoke, now a bright white with light from the now risen sun just behind it. I can just barely make out the Lazaret on the horizon, a dark blotch of haze from the shadow of the smoke cast upon it. I see people milling about on the docks, though not many. It doesn’t take long to find the first ferry being loaded up with the infected, I can see the bright red of their eyes from where I stand. 

I begin to walk towards it, but once my feet hit the first plank of wood from the dock an arm blocks my path. I look up at the person attached to the arm and my breath becomes lodged in my throat. My eyes widen as I look up at the masked man, glaring down at me from a white hooked mask with bright red glass for eyes. A Plague Doctor. I’d never seen one before, only heard the description of the haunting masks. Now I understand why people always spoke of them in hushed tones at the market. I try not to be too alarmed, but I can’t help the shiver that runs down my spine.

“I wouldn’t go down there, not unless you’re planning on boarding,” the muffled sound of the man’s voice reaches me from behind the mask. “State your business,” he looks down at me from behind the red glass. “Infected? Reporting infected? Or reporting the dead?” 

I’m taken aback by how nonchalant they are about the questions. My answer comes out as a croak. “Dead,” I say. “I need to report a death.” 

“Where?” He says, looking down at a clipboard I didn’t know he was holding. 

I swallow to try and clear my throat. “Center City, near the Marketplace, not far from here,” I say softly. 

He grunts and flicks a page up on his clipboard. “Knew it was going to spread towards the Marketplace,” the beak of his mask bobs up and down as he skims the list before him. “Alright, looks like that’s 069’s assigned area. He’s set up by the Marketplace, names Devorak--tall guy, wears black, white beaked mask, can’t miss him.” He chuckles to himself, amused by his sorry attempt at humor. I stare at him deadpan. He clears his throat. “Move along if you’ve no further business.”

I’m all too happy to move on. I make my way to the Marketplace, I passively listen to the hustle and bustle of people waking and hurrying about their daily duties. I glance at the sky, trying to ascertain the time from what I can see of the sky. I suppose I’d be getting up by now, the smell of breakfast waking me. Auntie usually woke early and would get things started in the morning… I shake my head to clear my thoughts. 

Entering the Marketplace my eyes scan the people, looking for the ominous Plague Doctor. I don’t see him, but I can see where they’ve taken up temporary residence, in an abandoned building that was once a leather working shop. I can see the cots and medical supplies just through the window. I walk up to the door and knock three times. No answer. I look through the window again, though I can make out a few items close to the window, the rest of the room is dark, uninhabited. I frown, should I try the door, or wait outside? I decide to take a seat next to the door to await his return. I've never been one for entering someone else’s residence uninvited, even if it was supposed to be a medical facility. I doubt he’d be very long, the doctor at the docks had made it seem like this section of the city hadn’t been hit that hard yet. I pull my knees to my chest and rest my head, before I know it I lose consciousness from exhaustion.

A loud thump next to me startles me awake. I look to my left to see a dark leather bag lying on the ground next to me, a dark mountain of a shadow cast over me. Looking up I can’t help the squeak that leaves my throat as I’m confronted for the second time today to the horrors of the Plague Doctor’s mask, red glass eyes looming down at me. I hop to my feet being sure not to lose balance and touch the doctor. The doctor reaches up to adjust his mask, I can just barely make out a sunken half lidded eye staring down at me.

“Infected, or dead?” He asks blearily. Now that I’ve taken a moment to regain my composure I can see that this man is tired, weary. His shoulders are slumped. He reaches for the door and continues to eye me through the red glass. I open my mouth, unable to speak, I’m sure I look like a fish out of water. A muffled sigh comes from within the mask, the door opens and the beak of the mask gestures for me to enter. “The door was open, you could have waited inside,” he says with a low mumble. 

“I’m sorry,” I whisper as I follow his instructions and enter, the doctor right on my heels. The door clicks closed, the room darkens then brightens quickly as the doctor throws the curtains back on two of the windows at the front of the room. I can’t help but to squint at him waiting for my eyes to adjust. He removes his black and red cloak with a flourish and sets it on a nearby cot. I catch a glimpse of wild curly auburn hair, it catches me off guard. I’m not sure why. The doctor reaches up to his mask, looking as if to take it off, but pauses, turning back towards me.

“Infected?” He asks again.

I wring my hands. What should I say? My eyes dart wildly around the room, looking for an answer that I know won’t be there. He seems to take notice of my uneasiness and lowers his hands slowly. He takes off his gloves and moves over to a small wash basin and dips his hands in to wash. I can’t help but watch his every move, and I notice his fingers are long, slender, and very, very pale. He turns back towards me after drying his hands on a white towel, and he makes his way to stand just before me. I crane my neck to look up at the white mask.

I can see his half lidded eyes darting around my face, checking for any signs of illness, he raises his hands to hover just over my cheeks, one on each side. “May I?” He asks. I give a nervous but curt nod of permission. I feel his fingers reach to rub around the base of my jaw, his fingers cold as ice. The cold sends a shock to my system and I shiver. I see his eyes crinkle with amusement and he continues his search of my face. He checks my jaw, my neck, he asks me to open my mouth, I do, and finally he peers down into my eyes, peeling back my eyelids to examine my sclera. His hands abruptly leave my face and I watch him with bated breath for his analysis. “All clear,” he declares, turning back to the basin to wash his hands again. 

My knees grow weak, and I fight to remain upright. I can feel a tension in my body, one I didn’t realize I had, leave in a wave of relief so profound I could almost cry. I waver on unsteady feet, when I feel a chair being pushed against the back of my knees. I look behind me to see the doctor holding the chair waiting for me to sit. My body cumples into the chair and I sit in silence for just a moment, overwhelmed by the wave of relief leaving my body.

The doctor casually leans against the table at the far end of the room on my left, his arms crossed over his broad chest, legs crossed in his lean to position. 

“Thank you Doctor Devorak,” my words coming out as a sigh, despite me attempting to put some strength into my speech. 

“Don’t mention it,” comes his easy reply. “Now, what can I do for you, my dear?” I look up at him and eye his mask, a question in my eyes. “Ah, yes, well,” I can almost swear I see a touch of a blush around the base of his neck. “I hope you don’t mind if I keep the mask on, in any case.” I nod, it makes sense to me.

“I… I need to report a death,” I finally say, some strength returning to my voice. I can see the slight slump the doctor’s shoulders take on before he bounces himself up from his leaning position. He walks over to a bookcase, taking a black journal from the middle shelf. He opens it and turns some pages while he walks over to a makeshift desk, tossing a quill from a holder onto the table and grabbing the inkwell. He holds it up to his mask and it bounces off the beak of the mask with a loud clack. He blinks and his body stills, almost comically, and for some reason it makes me smile. I stand and walk over to him, taking the inkwell and pulling the cork for him, setting it on the table lightly.

“Ah, yes, uhm, thank you,” he mumbles sheepishly. He grabs the quill with an exaggerated movement, tapping into the inkwell twice. “...still not used to the mask, you see,” he mumbles. “Normally I’d use my teeth to…” he pauses and glances at me, I give him an amused expression. He quickly looks away. “Name?” He asks.

That sobers me from my amused distraction. I can feel the neutrality return to my face. "Ravini. Her name was Ravini." 

The beak on his mask bounces up and down as he nods. "Next of kin?"

"Just me," I say. He gives me a look I can't decipher with the mask on. 

The doctor snaps the journal shut, and I jolt with surprise. With long strides he glides over to his cloak and swings it around his shoulders, he looks back at me tucking the journal into his shirt. "Take me to her?" It comes out half question, half demand as he puts his long black gloves back on. I nod and follow him out into the street. Doctor Devorak grabs his leather bag he carelessly left by the door and motions for me to lead the way. With a heavy heart I lead him to my Aunt's magic shop.


	3. Chapter 3

The front door of the shop chimes and I look up from the mortar and pestle, setting them down as lightly as I can. A smile automatically lights my face, "Welcome!" I greet the man whose head is peeking into the shop, grey eyes wide and dashing about. "Please come in," I walk around the counter to greet my customer.

His tall, lanky form slides around the door, shutting it behind him. As I walk up a shock of familiarity hits me as I notice the wild auburn curls on the back of his head, but I can't quite place why. "Good morning, my dear," he says as he turns to face me, an easy smile on his face. His half lidded eyes look down on me with warmth. I can't shake the familiar feeling he gives me, but I know I'd remember a handsome face like his if I'd seen it before. 

I realize I'm staring, and I clear my throat, “Good morning,” I reply. 

“I’m glad to see that you’re faring well.” He takes a quick glance around the shop. “You seem to be handling things here by yourself. That’s one less worry on my mind.” He lets out a slow breath, obvious tension leaving his broad shoulders. 

My eyebrows knit together, and I give the man another long look. His face is all angles, sharp edges, hooked nose, sunken eyes, interesting mouth. He’s pale, not like a “hasn’t seen the sun in a while” pale, but more of a “can’t tan for anything” pale. His eyebrows are thick, curved, expressive. I frown, I’d definitely remember a face such as his. “I’m terribly sorry,” I say finally, hoping that I don’t hurt his feelings. “I don’t believe we’ve met…?”

His face flames up with a blush, making his light freckles stand out more prominently. Oh, how cute, I can’t help but think. His body is all nerves now, long fingers fidgeting with his black gloves. “Ah, yes, well, uhm,” he stammers. “We have, you see. Once. It, uh, it wasn’t under the best circumstances. It’s understandable if you don’t remember me.”

“Oh,” is the best thing I can think to say. I must seem so rude. I look down at my clothes, smoothing out the wrinkles for something to do. “I’m sorry.” I say again lamely. 

He laughs, a good spirited happy laugh and leans against the counter, crossing his legs and arms. “No worries, my dear. I’m in the business of bad memories, it’s no surprise to me when people choose to forget. I honestly can’t blame you.” 

Bad memories? I glance up at his auburn hair, his casual stance at my counter, and a flash of recognition hits me. Tall, lanky, broad shoulders, pale thin fingers, half lidded eyes looking down at me through red glass. A flash of the horrible beaked mask and a shiver runs down my spine. Ah, yes, bad memories. I take a steady breath and steel my nerves, forcing a smile back onto my face. 

“I think it would have been easier to remember you if I had gotten the chance to see your face,” I finally say. “I’m glad to see you’re well, Doctor Devorak.” 

A delighted smile lights up his face, then he immediately looks sheepish again. His face is so expressive, I can’t help but watch it in awe. “Right,” he says as he scratches the back of his head. “The mask does leave much to the imagination. I wear it so much it’s no wonder people don’t recognize me without it.” He laughs again. “Sometimes it’s nice to have that anonymity.” 

I can only imagine. It would be nice to be able to walk the streets of the town, no one knowing who I was. No one looking down on me for being alone. Now’s not the time for those thoughts. I lean against the counter too and face him. “What can I do for you Doctor?” Real interest lighting my eyes. 

He stares down at me for a second, I see his adam’s apple bob with nervousness. I can’t help but feel charmed by him. His body screams out his thoughts honestly, probably against his will. Some people are just like that, their body tells what their mind cannot. I believe Auntie called it “wearing your heart on your sleeve.” Despite his horrid profession he seems to have a lively spirit, or maybe his spirit is lively because of his profession. Some people were just born to help others, born to take on the hard tasks to protect everyone else. It must be a hard job, and he’s making the best of what he can. I can almost see a glimmer of light around the edges of his frame, like my magic is trying to tell me something. I feel at ease near him, and I decide to trust my instincts.

“I was wondering if I might have a moment of your time,” he says. “I have a few questions that I hope you can answer for me. Everyone in town says you’re the one to look to.” 

“Of course, Doctor.” I motion for him to have a seat at my reading table in the back room. His grey eyes dash at it, his body screaming out unease. I give him a sly look, “It’s just a table Doctor. If it’s magic that makes you uneasy, it’s me you should be worried about.” I wave my hand to the door, it locks and flashes with magic, the sign in the window now reading closed. I can’t help but chuckle at the slight jolt his body makes at the sight. “You’ve nothing to fear from me however. I don’t bite, unless I’m asked to.” I walk past him into the room and motion for him to take a seat. I catch a glimpse of something dark in his eyes, and that piques my interest even more, I sit and wait for him to join me. 

A little too eagerly he launches his gangly frame into the chair opposite from me, his eyes glow with the light coming in from my stained glass window. Again, I’m taken aback by the honesty and curiosity radiating off of him. Such a genuine soul. I feel a warmth in my chest and I rest my hands on the table. “Would you be interested in a reading, Doctor? Free of charge, of course, for help with… well, you know.” I avert my eyes for a second, needing just a moment to regain my composure. I look back to him and his eyes are wide, full of shock, and a touch of fear. 

“Ahem,” he coughs into his hand, “perhaps… perhaps another time? I’m not in the habit of needing my fortune seen.”

“Of course, Doctor,” I say again, smiling to ease his discomfort. “If you’re ever in need of it, don’t hesitate to come see me.” 

“Okay, uhm, thanks? I think,” he stammers. “Anyway,” he pulls a pouch and a piece of paper out from his coat's breast pocket and lays them on the table. Long gloved fingers untie the strings to the pouch and a few small objects fall onto the tablecloth. It takes me but a moment to recognize the five pointed stars made from pliable twigs woven together. He eyes me with interest. “Do you recognize these?”

I nod, “Of course I do,” I say nonchalantly. “They’re mine.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Yours?”

I eye him with interest. “Yes, mine. I make them.”

He looks down at the stars. “You… make them. Make them for what?”

“Protection.” I reply easily.

“Protection?” His brows furrow, lips turn down into a frown. So expressive, I think to myself. “Protection from what?” His voice is incredulous, and he picks up a star holding it to see it better. 

“Various things,” I lean forward and pluck the star from his hand. “This one is a ward for sickness and harmful spirits.” I turn it in my hand, pointing at the colors of the twigs. “The black is for general protection, the blue to ward away bad vibrations or spirits, and the white for healing. Each color is ground with various herbs to enhance the properties of the charm.” I hand the charm back to him.

“Does it work?” That eyebrow is back up, almost into his hairline. 

I lean back and cross my arms over my chest. “What do you think?”

He takes a moment to examine the charm. His eyes look at it with distrust. I find I’m amused by this, and I smirk ever so slightly. “I hate to say this, and I mean no disrespect for your profession… But this looks like a lot of hogwash to me.”

I can’t help the bark of a laugh that escapes me. I’m amused by his abrupt honesty. He stares at me with careful eyes. “I’ve no doubt, Doctor,” I say between my laughter. “Being a man of medicine, I’d imagine you need hard proof. Something tangible with consistent repeatable outcomes. I would expect no less from a physician.” I lean forward. “The thing with magic is, it either is, or it isn’t.”

A question lights his eyes, “What do you mean?”

I have to think back on my many lessons with Auntie. What was the best way she put it? "Magic is only an effect. An effect with no cause. It's a manifestation of will. This light," I open my palm in front of me and a small orb of light appears illuminating our faces and the table. "It has no source, no fuel. It's there because I will it to be." I dissipate the orb. "Willpower is unreliable, too many inconsistent variables. Magic reacts differently to every user, and to every recipient. I would imagine medicine needs to be more… user friendly, with predictable results."

"Predictable results, hmm." He nods. "Yes, I suppose so." I wonder what he's thinking, is he agreeing with me to humor me? "If it's so unreliable, why make and sell trinkets such as these?" 

"I make them because my magic is more reliable than most. And here lately I haven't been selling them, I've been giving them to any who will take them." 

He holds the charm up at eye level, examining it intently. "That would explain why I've been encountering them everywhere I go." 

"I'm kind of a one trick pony, Doctor. All I know is magic, it's what I'm good at. If I knew a better way of helping the people of Vesuvia I would use it instead."

"Ilya." He says suddenly.

I'm taken aback, "Pardon?"

"My name. It's Ilya. You don't have to keep calling me Doctor."

I smile and lean forward placing my chin in my hand. "Oh?" I peer at him through my eyelashes. "We're on a first name basis already, Ilya? My, our relationship is progressing quickly." I'm rewarded with another flare of a blush across his face. He's easy to tease.

"Well, I mean, that is… if you want to. You can call me whatever you want."

"Hmm, I'll keep that in mind." I say with a low voice.

His Adam's apple bobs again, his blush reaching down to his neck. He eyes me warily with dark grey eyes. "Careful Shopkeep," he says, his mouth turning up into a mischievous smirk. "A certain Doctor might misinterpret your friendliness for flirtation."

Oh, so he has a bit of a bite. This could get interesting. I mirror his smirk. "A certain Shopkeep might find that to be agreeable." 


	4. Chapter 4

His form is hunched over his desk, the candlelight flickering off his pale face in the darkness of the library. I can just make out a frown on the curve of his mouth. The only sound in the room is the furious scratching of quill against paper as he writes furiously. I stay in the shadow of the library door frame, watching him. He looks a bit haggard, but you’d only know it if you catch him in times like these. Unguarded, raw. He likes to put up a brave face, and I can sympathize with that. He needs someone to turn to, I just wish he would let it be me, if only for a time. Alas that seems to be his nature, and while it’s annoying, it’s also why I’m terribly smitten with him. 

Emerging from the shadows I walk slowly and with purpose over to his desk. In my hand I hold today’s ledgers of the sick and dead, those who hold promise for further examination and those who will need to be sent to the Lazaret. I dread the look on his face daily as he scans the papers, reading every name and taking on the burden of their deaths. The only comfort I have is that he isn’t there to see the faces as well, that’s a job I took from him, the one burden he’ll let me bare for him. 

He looks up before I’m even halfway to the desk, having heard my footfalls. He stands in an instant, all legs and arms. It only takes him two strides to round his large desk and two more before he’s standing before me. His face is dark, with more than just the shadows of the library. His pale, cold hand reaches up and gives my cheek the barest of touches before he lets the hand fall back to his side. “I thought I told you not to come to the palace.” He whispers, his grey eyes devouring the sight of me. His words say he doesn’t want me here, but his eyes say otherwise. 

“I’m sorry,” I lie. “I didn’t finish until late, everyone else had already gone home for the night.” I look down at the ledgers in my hand. “I know you like to have the lists daily.” I look back up at him. “I also wanted to see you.” 

He lets out a tortured groan, grabbing my face in both hands and putting his forehead to mine. “Please, I can’t protect you if you insist on coming here.”

“Ilya, no one is safe from the Count. I’ve lived in Vesuvia all my life, it’s a widely known fact of life here.” I say in exasperation. “Besides,” I say, reaching up to touch his face in return. “No one saw me coming in, and you left the library open.”

He leans back from me and looks to the library door, then back to me, brow furrowing. “What do you mean no one saw you? There are guards everywhere!”

I smirk and cast the spell silently, his inhale of breath letting me know that he no longer sees my form before him, despite me still being in his grasp. I release the spell and can see his pupils dilating and contracting trying to register my form. “Magician, remember?” I say slyly. 

He’s not amused by my antics based on his frown. “Right, magic,” he lowers his hands from me and turns away to go sit back at his desk. He rubs his eyes with the palms of his hands and looks up at me, having followed him to stand in front of his desk. “I still don’t think you should risk it. I don’t want Lucio even knowing you exist.” I can’t deny the absolute worry that flashes in his eyes. Something must have happened today to really unsettle him. I know better than to ask him about it. He stopped telling me the goings on in the palace and laboratory a few weeks back. He had been called by Lucio less than a week ago to stay at the palace and be Lucio’s personal physician. I had only seen him twice since then at the clinic, and only for short amounts of time. 

I step around the desk to stand beside him, tossing the ledger onto the table and opening my arms for him. He remains seated and gives in to my offer, placing his head at my chest to hear my heart beat. I feel him take in my scent and his muscles relax. I can feel my own tension leave my body as well. I run my fingers through his auburn curls and murmur to him, “It’s going to be ok, we’re going to figure this out. We’ll do it together.” 

“You sound so sure of yourself.” He murmurs back.

“Of course I’m sure.” I chuckle. “I believe in you.” I look down at him looking up at me.

“Do you believe in me, or believe what your cards tell you?” He asks skeptically. 

That brings out a rare smile on my face. I used to have his doubts about the tarot, too. Though that time seems so far away now. I don’t fault him for his repulsion of things that are magical in nature. “You may not believe me,” I respond, tapping his pointy nose playfully, “But I believe what the cards tell me because I believe in you.”

Ilya makes a face then closes his eyes. “Cryptic magic mumbo jumbo,” he says but not without humor, I can feel his smile against my stomach. “Thank you,” he says after a moment. “You always know what to say.” 

I can't help myself, he's so easy to tease. "You shouldn't thank me, you should thank the cards. They're the ones that tell me what to say." I bite my lip to hold back my laughter.

He jerks his head up to look at me with wild eyes, but once he sees the look on my face he pouts. He reaches up and tickles my ribs in good nature then sits back in his chair. I lean over him, taking a peek at his notes. I can still only make out a few words here and there, his handwriting is horrible. Why are all doctor's handwriting so illegible? And don't get me started on his "scientific drawings."

I hear him sigh and I quickly sit down on the edge of the desk, on top of the ledgers he was beginning to reach for. "You mean to tell me you risk life and limb to get me these ledgers, and you won't let me read them?" 

I look at him imperiously. "The ledgers can wait, I don't risk life and limb without a prize." He blushes all the way up to the tips of his ears. 

"Oh? What can this humble physician offer as a just reward?" There it is, that sultry tone, that mischievous look. I can feel my own blush rising to my face. 

I stand sticking my nose in the air, taking a look around the library. "I shall require a sensual tour of the palace library." 

He grins wickedly and scoops me up from the seat on his desk, whirling me around once, I cling to him for dear life holding back my squeal of delight. I can feel his excited heartbeat on my hand, and my finger absentmindedly curls in his chest hair. His long lanky strides take us over to the large window, where there is just a touch of starlight shining down. 

"First stop on our sensual tour: the lovely arch stained glass window." He sets me on my feet only to dip me back low to the ground, strong arms keeping me steady. "Best seen, of course, while upside down in a lover's embrace." He pauses only long enough to nip at my collar bone. Suddenly I'm upright again, being twirled to another location. With practised ease he halts my spin and pulls me close, I'm left slightly breathless. "Second stop on the sensual tour: the bountiful bookshelves." He murmurs into my ear, his hot breath making me shiver. I give a small yelp when he lifts me by my rear, making me straddle his torso and I gasp as my back hits a shelf, not hard but enough to leave me staring at him wide eyed. He has that fire in his eyes that makes me melt. Grey lidded eyes search my mouth while he whispers, "Best utilized for holding up naughty magicians." 

I grab his face and our lips meet with force. He moans audibly as I bite at his lower lip. One of his arms snakes up to my waist while the other keeps me stable by my rump. I wind my fingers in his crazy curls, pulling his hair hard enough to break our kiss. He gives me a heated smile and bites his own lip. I trail kisses down his pale neck, keeping his head still. He kneads my side and buttock with his hands. I release his hair and slide my hands into this open shirt, feeling his lithe shoulder muscles as they flex to keep me upright. He pulls me closer so he can grab ahold of my pulse lightly with his teeth, and now it's my turn to moan audibly. He ends the nibble with a light kiss and looks me in the eyes. I grin at him. 

"Next destination, Doctor," I say slowly. Giving me a hot look, he sets me on my feet and grabs my hand to lead me around the bookcase.

We both stop dead in our tracks as we hear footsteps stomping down the palace halls, heedless of the noise they're making. Then a voice rings out, "Doctor Jules! Are you in there?" The footsteps get closer.

I can feel the heat leave his hand and he whirls around eyes as big as saucers. He forcefully pushes me back behind the bookshelf and covers my mouth so I don't make a sound. All I can do is allow it, shocked by the sheer panic on his features. It's the Count, it has to be. No one else would make Ilya shake like this. Except maybe Valdemar.

"Disappear," he pleads quietly. "Disappear and get out of the palace. Now."

I nod and let the spell slide over me once more. He stares blankly at where he knows I still stand but can't see my features. A sad expression dawns his face, and he quickly grabs a book from above my head and spins around to walk into the center of the library. 

"My goodness Lucio, keep it down, you'll wake the whole palace." He says boisterously flipping through the book. 

Lucio peeks his head into the library door and laughs. "The people in the palace live to hear me grace them with my presence, at any hour I please. They should be so lucky as to hear me amongst them." I roll my eyes, pompous ass. Ilya's grunt tells me he feels the same way. I slowly begin to make my way around the bookcase.

"It's getting late, and I was about to turn in for the night." Ilya says, doing his best tired man impression.

"Yeah right," Lucio chimes in walking fully into the library. "Everyone knows you don't sleep." I'm stopped short and I look between the two men, not sure which I'm more stunned by; hearing Ilya isn't sleeping well, or seeing how dreadful Lucio looks. 

"I may not sleep Lucio, but you look like you could use a long rest." Ilya says setting the book on his desk.

A dark look crosses Lucio's face, "Watch your tongue, Jules, or you might lose it."

I glance between the two again and start making my way silently towards the door.

"What do you require of me, Count?" Ilya asks, moving to sit at his desk.

Lucio stomps towards the desk and I slide around a table to avoid being in his way. "What are you looking around for Jules? Do you see something?" Lucio turns and begins to look around.

Ilya's face lights up with a blush and he looks down, clearing his throat. "Erm, nothing. I just thought I saw a moth." He rubs his forehead. "I'm sorry, I'm tired and I guess I'm seeing things." 

The Count frowns and looks right at me, his lips pucker in a frown. I freeze and wait with  bated breath. I know the Count has magical abilities but I'm not sure if he's capable of seeing past my spell. His face contorts again and his body is wracked with deep gnarly sounding coughs. I make my move through the door while he's having his coughing fit. 

By the time his fit subsides I'm far enough down the halls for his final hacks to be just a faint echo. I exit the palace through the garden and make my way back to my closed up shop. Once in a back alley, I allow my spell to subside and I look behind me to the spires of the palace. Then it hits me…

The Count is sick.


	5. Chapter 5

Back muscles flaring, I make my way slowly down the stairs to the main part of the shop. Groaning the whole time I prepare my morning tea, giving my salamander a pat on his head and a few coal chips. The stove flares to life and before I know it I have my tea ready and I head to the back room to sit and let my muscles relax. 

Yesterday was very taxing, physically and emotionally. The Red Plague took a turn in the Flooded District, the people are getting sick at an alarming rate. I spent most of my day yesterday huddled over cots tending to the sick, or discretely moving bodies to carts to be taken to the harbor. I fear what today will bring. I could almost swear I saw the water in the Flooded District run red, but I’m not sure if it was a trick of my eyes. I reach across the table and grab my tarot deck, shuffling the cards idly. I lay three before me, face down, then set the deck to the side. I look down at the cards, it feels ominous to flip them over. The cards have been eerily consistent with their fortunes for the past month. I reach for my tea and bring it to my lips.

My tea calls out my name. 

I choke and sputter my tea back into the cup and stare at it. I’ve gone mad, surely. I set it down carefully and peak over the rim of the tea cup. Looking up at me with violet amused eyes is Asra, doing his best not to laugh outright. 

“Asra!” I fume. “I nearly choked!” This elicits a full on bray of laughter from my tea cup. I cross my arms and pout. “I’m starting to regret letting Auntie take you on as an apprentice.”

“No you don’t,” comes his easy reply. I stick my tongue out at him. He smiles at my antics then sobers up. “How are things in the city?”

I run my hands over my face. “Hard,” I reply. “Yesterday has been the worst since it started.” He looks at me with worried eyes. “It’s a little disheartening. I thought we were making headway.”

“Things always get harder before they get better.” He says, trying to console me. 

“Or,” I retort, “it’s just the calm before the storm.” His eyes darken.

“We need to get you out of there,” He says and I sigh.

“Asra, we’ve been over this. I’m not leaving. The city needs me, I am making progress! I can’t just leave now and abandon them!” I lean back in exasperation. I can’t see his face, but I can hear his grunt of frustration.

“Sometimes,” I hear him sigh, “you do what you can, but what you can isn’t enough. Sometimes, you have to let fate take its course and escape to live another day.”

I fight back a few tears. Let fate take its course, huh? I look at the cards on the table just beyond my tea cup. Isn’t that what I was doing? Helping fate get to where it needs to be? I bite my lip and force the tears back.

“Anyway, I’ve acquired a wonderful pueblo cottage in Nopal.” He tries to change the subject. “The people in the nearby village are wonderful, and would love to meet you sometime.”

I smile and lean over the tea cup to see his face, waiting patiently for me to reappear. “I’d love to meet them sometime. I bet Nopal is wonderful this time of year. Is that where you are now?” 

He nods, moving to the side to give me what small of a view that he can from his water source, I see mostly a rosy sky. “It’s warm, but not humid. The days are slightly longer here, but the nights are chilly.”

“Sounds wonderful.” 

“It is, I wish you would come and see it.” He sounds morose. 

“Asra…” I lament, “I’m not finished here. I promise, once I’m done I’ll visit your lovely cottage in Nopal.”

His eyes light up with a fraction of what I can only see as hope. “I’ll hold you to that. I’ll make a garden here, the plants are very exotic and beautiful. You’ll be pleased.” 

“I look forward to it.” Off in the distance I can hear the bell toll. The sound erases the smile from my face. I look down at Asra, his own face a vision of concern. “It’s time to start the day. Now get out of my tea cup so I can finish my tea in peace.” I force a smile, he does too. 

“Stay well, I’ll contact you soon.” Asra says.

“I will. Stay safe on your journey’s. Until I see you again.”

His image disappears from my tea. I don’t have the heart to finish it. I glance at the three cards I set out but a moment before. I flip the first: The Devil, the second: The Moon, the third: Death.

The calm before the storm, indeed.


	6. Chapter 6

“Missive from the palace!” I hear a shout, and I look up from the little boy whose face I was cleaning from dirt and grime. I see the man off in the distance, cots and makeshift pallets litter the street before the clinic in Center City, he’s winding his way through the throng. I raise my hand to hail him.

“I’ll take it! Over here!” I look down at the boy and give him a smile. “All better now, you have such a handsome face.” He smiles at me and I wave farewell to him. He might have the plague, but I’m not sure. His sclera haven’t turned yet, but he does look ill. I frown to myself as the messenger approaches. He hands me the letter, I look down at the seal and my blood freezes in my veins. That’s Quaestor Valdemar’s seal. “Thank you,” I say and the messenger scurries off with doubtless other missives to deliver with the Quaestor’s Seal.

I swallow, and I feel the paper shaking in my hands. Dread. Absolute dread is what I feel. An official missive from Valdemar bodes ill indeed. I retreat into the main building of the clinic and head to the small desk that I’ve moved into the corner to make room for more cots and ill patients. I light the candle on the desk with a flick of my wrist and pop the wax seal. The handwriting within is a neat with sharp script, the letter short and to the point.

_ By the Order of Quaestor Valdemar, Head Physician of Lucio, Count of Vesuvia, _

_ Initiate Directive 216 immediately, and without delay. _

_ Head Physician Queaster Valdemar _

I feel sick. I set the letter down and cover my mouth. Has it gotten that bad? How could it have turned so quickly, so ruthlessly? I look out at all the patients lying in cots and sitting against the walls. None of these have the sign of no return, the red sclera. Valdemar must have found another tell to the plague, or it’s just so bad that… My vision swims with tears. I sit in the small chair at the desk. We’ve lost too many, we can’t find a cure, and we can’t risk infecting those who have avoided infection thus far. I close my eyes and the tears escape down my cheeks. 

No, it’s not over yet. I ball my fists. I reach in my pocket, grab my tarot deck and shuffle. I pull a card, I turn it to face me. The Fool. It may be the end for this round, but new beginnings are promised. I just have to trust in Ilya, trust in The Hanged Man. I take a deep shaky breath. Trust Ilya, believe in Ilya. A sense of serenity envelopes me, the cards telling me I’m on the right track. Ilya will find the cure and save us all. 

But… Until then, I have to keep as many people safe as I can. I steel my nerve and blow out the candle on my desk. Time to get to work. 


End file.
